This is me writing spontaneously without edits and doubts
that will eventually consume me.
I keep coming back to the one thing which almost shattered me but I refused to give in because despite being so disappointed over and over again…
my soul told me to come back.
I am forgetting about the rules of writing because 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
I’ll doubt.
I almost left because I thought I’d pursue in something that would give me the result now. I’m tired. I feel hopeless at times. But I didn’t.
And I didn’t because this is my only escape – to create, to fail and create again anyway.
I’d suffer for this because it satisfies me. It makes me feel unapologetically that I’ve become alive again.
I’d break for this because I know it will be the one that heals me again.
And I didn’t leave because my thoughts are loud.
Constantly.
They’re so loud I could hear them knocking on my skull, and hear them ringing in my ears – waiting for me to scream those thoughts. But I wouldn’t speak a word.
I’d take a paper and pen to scribble nonsense and ramblings of things that I’ll never announce to the world…
I keep coming back because my dreams become real in paper. Words would dance before me even when others don’t see them. They’d flow like streams towards a dead valley surrounded by mountains and trees – all those things that to me… feel like I am home. Stories felt real; characters become my friends; imaginary places become my home – my worldly paradise.
And I keep coming back because I’ve gone this far…
But not far enough.
Even if I’ll feel the need to stop again, I know I’ll keep coming back because I am not here for the the material gains and trends. I am here because my soul needs its writer. And that’s me. And only me.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you to stop, not even yourself because you will… keep coming back.
Photo by Han-Hsing Tu on Unsplash
Syaza 